31 7 / 2012
A Proposal from Floyd: A poem…
Metaphor, I think not.
I implore you to consider my hop.
The true nature of your reality,
is the conceptual path of duality.
Not philosophical banality,
nor existential fallacy
will stop you from rabbit-hole mentality
should you simply marry me.
The path you will follow shall veer
If only to scratch my large ear.
This hour long date, shall make for a mate
With proper time to consummate.
And last in my play for your heart,
I offer pragmatic words to impart:
I promise you not to be late.
For my famed pocket watch shall keep the date.
If for only one hour,
to drink a fine substance and flower.
This portal is but a bit queer…
If you marry Floyd, my sweet dear.
——————
@SaveTheDateDC: Dear Floyd,
Such poetry makes me grin as a Cheshire cat…Yet I detect a hint of Cadbury bunny-style tomfoolery (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oamnDsxFLyg).
This fable shall end before it begins, as I quote the following passage from Mark Dery’s essay “An Aesop’s Fable about Anthropomorphism: When Animals Attack!” from the book I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts: Drive-by Essays on American Dread, American Dreams -
“Sandra Herold, the seventy-one-year-old widow who lived alone with Travis the Chimp, believed he ‘couldn’t have been more my son…if I gave birth to him.’ Travis enjoyed honorary Homo sapiens status in his hometown of Stamford, Connecticut (‘He was small and cute and friendly,’ a local cop remembered, ’ he’d wave at you’), and at home with Herold, where he ‘lived like a human, eating steak and drinking wine’ and sleeping (and bathing!) with his owner…until the day he ran amok, attacking a longtime friend of Herold and gnawing her face to an eyeless, noseless pulp…Travis’s attack was perfectly ‘normal behavior for a captive primate,’ says Grice. Again, the key word is captive. Forced into close encounters of the human kind, let alone cohabitation, animals can behave unnaturally.”
In other words - You’re a hare too short for my taste in suitor, though you would make a delicious main course; the dining room table is as close as we shall ever be, dear Floyd, The Baltimore Bunny.
